A Look Inside
by Pantomime Banjo
Summary: A series of first-person drabbles about the Hetalia characters and their issues and opinions. Can be read with either no or many pairings. Warnings: language, possible historical inaccuracies.
1. Russia 1  The Communist Manifesto

My history is bloody. Violent. One of those things, as Madeline so kindly put, that "don't need to be said." That's not my fault. I didn't make a nation out of a military fort. I didn't cause monarchs to take their thrones by force, by slander instead of by rightful succession. I didn't kill Nikolai. I didn't murder his children. I didn't even _touch_ his Alexei. His Anastasia. I didn't take Alexandra from Germany. She came to me – to him. She loved both of her countries, even if she was afraid to speak here.

I didn't send Rasputin. I didn't call for Lenin. Or Stalin. One banished, one foreign, and of course he's foreign to me – Georgia is not Russia. No matter what the boundaries of the USSR were; I cared not where they lie. I wanted to help. I _want_ to help. Communism, even if I didn't ask for it, was supposed to be my saving grace. How could something so perfect hurt people?

It hurt Калинингрaд – нет, East Germany. The marks, the bruises.. Apparently they're still dark enough to drive him from me. No matter what I tell him. No matter what I promise. No matter what he promised. No matter how honorable, how prestigious his values are. Were – Prussia is gone.

..Gilbert is still here..

I hurt the Baltics, though. They denied their rightful places as my comrades, and I did not treat them as a true member of my society should.

It wasn't something I should have done, really. Hypocritical to the point where it would have been shameful if all of my leaders hadn't been doing the same. Or worse. I should have honored them as the others, shown them how wonderful things could have been. The point was never to spread the ideology through fear.

It did hurt, though, to always have such two-faced neighbors. Fêting my leaders when they came by, then running to the Germans for "rescue" the next second. As soon as we were out of sight.

I don't think it was until I finally tried to save them from themselves that they openly defied me, though. I've never understood it. After all, how different am I from my sisters, and yet the proudest, the most honorable of them ran to my sister's side, even though she denied him. I can respect his persistence – and hers, terrifying as it can be – even if I disagree with his goal. I can't see that I am so different in trying to find friends of my own.

I'm not truly so far thrown from everyone else, am I?

My sisters sound like I do, and they've found friends. The eldest of us even manages to be in American favor, at times.

..

The Americans are not a people I claim to understand. They are corrupt, and they hurt their people. They are virtually the personification of capitalism, and they spite everyone. They are both nosy and ignorant, and they hurt others. And yet, despite all of this, despite all of the ill will towards these people, they are yet some of the most beloved of the globe. Of the world over.

The man himself is in one the most rude and the most kind person I have ever known. It's mystifying. Captivating, really. _He_ is mystifying, and somehow he's just so.. perfectly obscene, I believe I could say.

..But it's no matter. Through all of his people's misconceptions, through all of our conflicts, all of our competitions, I am not someone who matters to him. Or anyone. All I am, all that I now represent, is the shadow of a veiled threat. Not myself: neither Ivan nor Russia. Merely a looming presence whose shadow no longer intimidates.

At least not where it should.


	2. Prussia 1  Diary of the Awesome Me

It's hard not knowing who you are anymore. Or what you are anymore. Or where. Or what the fuck ever; that's half of my problem anyway.

As soon as I figure out if I'm supposed to be a country or a person nowadays, I'll get right fucking back to you on that.

I know I'm not a soldier. It's probably the only fucking thing I'm good at – and I am _damn_ good at it, best in the world – but God forbid the Germans have an army. (God forbid _Prussia _even _exist._)Makes no sense. I'm too good at it - Westen is too good at it - so I'm not allowed. _We're _not allowed. They're afraid to lose.

Where the hell is the honor in that? Fear used to be a good thing. Fear meant respect. Respect meant obedience. Obedience meant success. It was simple, and it was logical. The strongest armies, the best soldiers, the best leaders won. Then they protected the weaker peoples until they could stand on their own and join or defeat their conquerors. Lather, rinse, repeat. This political bullshit nowadays? Complete waste of time. But whatever. It's not my problem.

I almost wish it was. Then I would at least have a better idea of what the hell I am. And something to do, since that darling Bruderlein of mine can't stand me near him (something about being distracting – tch, I _know _I taught him better than that) and doesn't trust me on my own (something about being irresponsible. Riiiiight.)

I'm gonna give that kid a heart attack someday, but I like to chalk it up to karma, or at least my twisted, non-Asian understanding of karma. I had to raise his ass; I taught him everything he knows. He owes me. And he knows that. He _tries_ not to treat me like an idiot, but it's not in his nature to let insubordination slide. I can respect that.

What I can't respect, is my own fucking insubordination. I mean, really, where the _fuck_ did that come from? It's not like I had people to _answer _to often, but when I had them, _I fucking answered to them. _I have _no _idea what happened to that man – whoever he was. The Saint Maria Order, the Teutonic Knights, I've heard.. Sure fucking thing is he isn't Gilbert Beilschmidt anymore. I think the morals, the dignity died with the Free State of Prussia. Y'know, somewhere around the time that I moved into my little brother's basement. Who does that?

I certainly don't make it easy for him, you know? Between the atrocious behavior itself and the stark contrast between my present and former behavior... (That is a fucking _beautiful _half of a sentence right there. I almost sound like a _person _again..or a whatever I was, at least. Me. When I was _actually awesome_.) Well, let's just say that traditional Prussian values are a big deal in German politics for a reason. Being that kid's hero is probably one of my greatest achievements..

..Don't tell him I said that. Even if it is true – which it so is. I don't joke about shit like that. I also don't _say _it. To anyone involved. Used to be _at all, _but, y'know, moral decline and all. Displays of weakness don't seem as important when you've got nothing worth proving and no one to prove it to. (Fuck, it sounds even _worse _when I write it out like that. I didn't think that was even _possible._)

I'd still do anything for him, though. Hell, I've already practically killed myself for him. Nobody expected me to survive living with Russia in his place.

I sure didn't.

The bastard's as crazy as they come, always has been. I don't know what he saw, but I don't think anything could justify.. what he does. I mean, maybe I'm just fucking _biased_, but I'm preeeetty sure he needs to be put down, if you know what I mean.

I mean fucking _killed_. Until he _dies. _(...Old Man Fritz would be _so _ashamed to hear me say something that fucking _stupid. _Well, see. Whatever.)

He is kind of interesting, though, in a "my God, how the _fuck_ did this _happen_" kind of way. Sometimes I wonder if he ever feels bad.

I don't think he does.

He's kind of like...those little kids who burn ants and rip the wings off of flies. I'm not sure he realizes that what he does actually hurts people in the long run.

I'd like to study him. Just dissect him a but, take him apart. (Or _vivisect _him. Same end result, but a lot more fun for me.)

Find out what's actually wrong with him.

Maybe it'll help me figure out what's wrong with me.

..Not that there's anything wrong with me, y'know; I'm awesome.

It's everyone else who's screwing me up.

..Right?


	3. Lithuania 1 The Warrior's Song

Aš esu Lietuva.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself, even though nobody else seems to agree with me. Sometimes I wonder if people love or hate me: they fight to keep me around, but they strip away everything they can that makes me myself.

Jestem Litwa.

Poland did it first. I'm sure he meant well, of course. He thought he was saving my soul, and there's no doubt that the alliance saved lives when it came to fighting people like Prussia.

I just wonder how high the cost really was, sometimes. Certainly, we were officially equal. Official, however, doesn't keep the westerners from completely forgetting I existed.

Official doesn't keep the traditions that made my warriors so strong, and _official_ doesn't keep my people happy. My people. The ones _I _owe my very life to. The ones _we_ were supposed to care for together.

Prussia _was_ getting harder to handle; I couldn't dispatch him as easily as I once could. That much is true. Maybe Poland needed me, and maybe I needed him.

But I think we would have been fine alone. A threat would only prompt the strongest to become stronger and the weakest to fall; my people would have found a way.

And Poland? I believe, honestly, that he would have managed somehow. Nobody could ever keep him down; he's well earned the nickname of feniks. The magic or luck or fate on his side was far superior to any skills or strength he's ever possessed; not a single partitioner could ever topple him, assimilate him. No matter how much he'd deserved it.

But I'm being so rude. I've no right to speak badly of anyone, least of all someone who meant so well.

Even if he did turn out to be a thieving traitor.

Я Литвa.

It feels like I've been with Russia more than anyone else, and I'm really not sure what to think of that.

Sometimes I feel like he's made me almost as crazy as he is, usually after the days when I start thinking that we've earned our punishments. That I deserve every hit, every insult, he gives me.

I'd honestly rather forget what I've thought after those nights when I've seen all of him, rather end myself like Greece's Oedipus than remember the times poor Latvia did.

But the nights when he held me were the worst by far. To even be able to think that someone would be capable of being so gentle with some_thing _they'd so damaged, been so cruel to, nearly broke me on more than one occasion. To imagine him capable of _love _could shatter most of us, I think. But not Belarus.

Я Лiтвa.

I think Belarus is quite possibly the strongest of all of us. She's been dealt nearly as harsh a hand as her brother, and she's lasted it even better than he. They both seem so shattered, but I think, for one, that she'd have to be much stronger than Russia to handle her own hardships and the pain of watching the one person she loves more than anything suffer so much as well as she does.

Not that she's perfect, by any means, but I did love her. She's certainly beautiful.

Eventually I let myself realize that I was just trying to make the best out of a bad situation and sucking myself further into somewhere I kept screaming that I did not want to be. So I gave up, and I've been trying for decades now to move on.

It's not easy, not for any of us, but the one thing I think she's really missing is actually her brother. I am far from the first person to endorse their relationship, please don't misunderstand, but brothers are supposed to be people you can count on.

Mine are honestly one of the only reasons I've managed to keep myself around this long, and I'm forever grateful to whatever force guides us that I at least have the two of them to depend on and care for. They're just as flawed as everyone else, I know; Estonia certainly doesn't always understand everything.

"Ma olen Leedu," I've said to him.

"Mida?" he's answered.

He does try, and that's more than I can say for most people. I know I scare him sometimes, but that's okay. We don't need to support each other alone.

For all his shortcomings, I think Latvia's the most important person to me. He's been there; he listens. He understands.

That's all I need.

Es esmu Lietuva.

"Es zinu."

That's all I want.

**[A/N: So this one was actually much harder for me, and I'm really sad that I actually had to cut out a giant paragraph of his angsting. So, bonus deleted scene thing that nobody cares about!**

**Everyone adapted eventually, or they were absorbed into someone else. That's just how it works; times change. I just really don't understand why I was expected to do both. I mean, I may just be whining, but trying to deal with the near schizophrenia that came from the groups resisting and assimilating with the Poles at the same time was something I never wanted to go through again.**

**The only bad part of that decision was that that feeling was all I'd ever experience after the fact.]**


	4. Belarus 1 I Dreamed a Dream

I don't want world peace. I'm not about to start threatening lives and cultures for economic stability.

I just want my brother to love me.

I don't care if it means that the Balts will never acknowledge anything I've done for them or that I won't meet the stupid criteria for the westerners' little club for another thousand years - if any of us are even still _around_ by then, and I honestly don't care if it means that I have to give up my freedom again.

Someone tried to tell me once that I had too much of a responsibility to my people to "mindlessly pursue" my brother's affections. I told him he was wrong, but he didn't seem to understand. I really think it's quite simple.

There are no crowds of people bustling down the streets of Minsk, rambling along about nonsense in "the language of their homeland," in Belarusian. There are few families sitting around their kitchen table, babies shoulder to shoulder with grandparents, remembering the jokes of a brother in"my" language.

My people speak Russian. Their language is Russian; my language is Russian; our language is Russian; Belarusian may just as well be dead. It doesn't _matter._ The Americans have books on the language and the country talking about Georgians, written by Ukrainians who ran away to liberty. Most of us who used to live with Russia have barely been able to distinguish ourselves.

It's not like it matters if I have any fame or if my people are mixed with others. To be forgotten by the people of the world is nothing; hundreds of states may well be as real as Narnia or Oz to the infants that rule us.

There's nothing wrong with only living on like Снегурочка for the nations that come, reduced to a flag and a name and a set of years for students to memorize in their classrooms and a warning by any of us who make it long enough to teach them.

But the only thing that matters about the future is how he'll think of me. I can only dream of his signature, sending letters out to his Дед Мороз, mailing them to Великий Устюг instead of my Белавежская пушча, since he seems to hate me right now. He even loves _her_ more dearly than me, and _she _doesn't do anything for him.

The thing is-I don't think I even care if he only loves me as he does her anymore, so long as he loves me at all. What does a piece of paper mean if he'll only really give it to me out of fear or pity? What good is it? What meaning does it even have if he doesn't love me like the others claim to?

What good are those two, even, since they're not him? I've no clue why they think I care what either of them thinks of me; they're not important; one a warrior who only fights off tremors and the other a paler Don Quixote. They're both as crazy as the rest claim me to be, anyway; they say they know me like nobody else does.

There's nothing else to know. Anything I do, I do for him, and anything I am is anything he wants. Russia certainly seems to ask a lot of people, but from me? Nothing. To go away, leave him alone and never come back… It's not something I can do. I've tried; I left his house with everyone else not so long ago now.

I thought that everything that came afterward was progress - that it meant he would come around. It ended up seeming to be just as much of a pipe dream as everything else I've ever aimed for.

Then I gave up, and the tables turned. Evidently there _is _something to all of that nonsense the babies like to spout about "playing hard to get,"so I'll let my people play their little games with his for now, but someday… Someday we'll become one.


End file.
